


Do Fahliil Ahrk Muz

by Stormageddon_101



Series: Do Fahliil Ahrk Muz [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon Divergence, Do Fahliil Ahrk Muz, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Skyrim - Freeform, death/blood mention, mild alchohol usage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 15:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18995368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormageddon_101/pseuds/Stormageddon_101
Summary: No one can predict how bittersweet Freedom will be.But how much sweetness can exist, when your freedom is in the midst of a dragon attack. Mere seconds before your own execution? Sometimes, you just have to take what the gods have given you, and run with it.





	Do Fahliil Ahrk Muz

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY!!  
> I have wanted to post my work now for years, but have never been brave enough. But after probably a solid month of intensive editing, it’s ready! And I couldn’t be happier about it.
> 
> Thus, without further Adeu.  
> I give to you the product of my love, and my effort: OF MER AND MEN. 
> 
> enjoy!

Something in the Elves stomach felt cold. Whether it be from the lack of mead, or perhaps just the sheer terror that still coiled within his stomach from the recent trauma, he couldn’t tell. What he was aware of though, was the sensation of his entire abdominal cavity slowly freezing over, as he continued to walk down the damp cave passage. Which was beginning to smell increasingly like hopelessness and death. He would have been frightened, or possibly just begrudged. But, his mind was too preoccupied on questioning how- in the name of all the nine hells within oblivion- he had managed to become a free elf yet again. After almost three years within the Imperial cities highest security prison; bound by three sets of heavy chains and kept under constant watch.  
    As well as what course of action he would take, if he found himself placed in front of that brutish fool Caberett yet again.  

_Maybe..._ The elf thought to himself with a malicious smirk, _the ‘general’ has already encountered that whoreson of a dragon. And died in what he probably assumed was a ‘dash of heroism’._ Bizzmuth, a Jack of many trades, including assassination, larceny, and the acclaimed ‘thief of the amulet of kings’ added as he attempted to stifle a sneer.

Then, he was torn from his thoughts. As he found himself colliding with the back of the Nord who had assisted him and a small child: no more than eight or nine years of age, through the burning village. A growl of impatience rose in his throat as Gold and Silver eyes threw a quick questioning look at the blonde. But as the human in his brown and tinted blue leathers took a step to the left, revealing a large black bear sleeping rather uncomfortably close to possibly their only exit. He found himself vaguely understanding the fear of his other two travelling companions.

Immediately, what protective instincts his race had towards young blood brought a sharp pang to the center of his spine. Thus forcing him to shove the little girl; currently standing to his left, in what looked like an absolute clueless daze, behind him with his arm.

“I’d rather not tangle with her right now. What I suggest is that we all try to sneak by one by one. Just have to take it nice and slow, and watch our steps.” The blue-eyed Nord paused, and brought out a hand-carved longbow from its place on his back and carefully passed it to the elf. “Or, if you’re feeling lucky, take this bow. You might be able to take her by surprise. Go ahead, I’ll follow your lead and watch your back. ”

      Bizzmuth strode forwards; completely careless as to how loud his footsteps may have been and loaded up the bow. “You might not want to kill her-” He began as his eyes narrowed into focus and the drawstring was pulled back. “-But I do.” With a single, well placed shotthe beast's lungs, followed by a quiet gag from the female as her last breath left her. The Mer then continued on, his steps were quieter now in case there was something else around the corner.

“Sneaking is overrated, eh?” Ralof of Riverwood commented quietly, a gruff laugh resonating from the one now ahead of him. The Nord then paused to watch the youngest of the party, as she raced forward to collect what she could from the kill. Most likely as some form of a trophy, a mark of the little girls first, and true test of survival. Then, as soon as she had arrived back in formation the silence began again.

 

Her thoughts returned to the dragon faster than she expected. Shortly after, the same shivers which wracked her body as the large, scaly beast had first flown over Helgen began again. If it weren’t for the kind Stormcloak, she most likely would have been amongst those who had burned alive in the small village. In an almost hopeless attempt to tear her mind off the sound of ebony wings; she began to think of the bear. How she would have longed to stay; to feel the soothing softness of her coat albeit just a minute longer. But, if there was one thing that her father had taught her before he had been stolen away from Nirn. It was that until she was older: she must remain with her group. No matter who they may be, or how interesting the life of a loner may have sounded in hestorybooks. Rules were rules. And just like her Papa, she always knew when to follow them.

Minutes had passed when he began to become aware of something else, a frown stretching across his face once he did. His mouth was dry, the soft flesh of his tongue had already stuck to the roof of his mouth more than ten times by now. The feeling was almost that of a desert, long since deprived of any form of liquid. _By the gods, if there isn’t a tavern where we’re headed, so help me..._ The Black haired elf hissed, as he moved his gaze from the blonde to the broken gravel trail ahead of them. There was a light; shining brighter than anything he had ever seen in the past. A cool draft carrying itself from what the Mer could only assume was an opening- just large enough to squeeze through called to him by name. This was his opportunity, his way out, no. His salvation. He let his impulse guide him, as he shoved past the agonizingly slow blonde, and heard as his steel mail collided sharply with the stone wall when he fell against it.  
Weakened legs carried him swiftly then, the breeze growing stronger and stronger the closer he got. Until suddenly, he was engulfed in a blinding light. The air was almost painfully fresh and had the sweetest smell of pine and unending fields of grass and wheat. When his aching muscles eventually gave out the ground which he fell to was softer than any pillow. As his vision cleared, the scenery he was greeted with, felt more welcoming than any his eyes had ever seen. The world around him was lush and green, and the skies were slowly tinting darker the further the sun set behind the mountains to the west. There was not a stone wall to be seen for miles, no guards, no chains. Although he may have felt as if he were about to fall out of consciousness from the overexertion: By all the gods was it worth it.

Bizzmuth took in a large breath then and began to cough quietly as his throat and lungs were bitten with an unfamiliar cold. _Finally_. It had taken him almost a decade to return to the sweet embrace of Skyrim. After the death of two of his families, three years confined within a dungeon with only his own thoughts to keep him company. And an escort across the country of Cyrodil to the brutal cold of the border of Skyrim with a blade at his back held firmly by another elf no less.

But as the sound of footsteps filled the clearing, he was reminded rather harshly of the company he was still with, and how dubious the Nordic race was. Capable of immeasurable damage, even by the children if the proper chance was given. And so, he remained quiet, what small smile which had stretched across his face once he had left that godforsaken cave quickly being replaced with a frown.

As the girl found her way out of the cave, she strode over to the stranger and opened her mouth to speak. Before she could, all of her words died in her throat as the sound of ebony wings beat into her ears. Seconds later, the destroyer of what she had called her home for the last few months flew overhead. Its flight fast, and menacingly calculated. The dragon had not seen the trio, or if it had; it showed no interest in attacking them. The child heaved out a sigh of relief, and crouched herself down to the Bosmers level.

“Hey mister?” she called, reaching towards the larger-than-average elf, before then pulling away. She didn’t know how he would react, and wouldn’t want to lose a hand for a silly mistake. Her only response from the mentioned male was a flick of the ear. The young Nord now assumed that he was paying attention.

“I- I just wanted to ask if you’re okay…” His behaviour hinted that perhaps he wasn’t, but she had never seen a Bosmer this close before.

“I could ask you the same. Where’re your parents?” Bizzmuth found himself questioning, as he raised his head and turned it to look at the little girl. Even in the slowly disappearing daylight she still looked as young as she had in the cave. Her dress hung loosely on her form, indicating that much unlike the others of her race- she had not a muscle on her bones. Skyrim was by no means a place for a child like her to be wandering alone aimlessly. Especially with the constant threat of bandits, and now dragons looming around every corner.

He muttered something under his breath, just loud enough for it to ring through his own ears. Before shaking his head and rising slowly to his feet. His left arm extending towards a large stone outcrop facing towards a gravel path. “Get on my back kid. I’ll get you to the closest town.” It was only right, for only an hour or two prior, this tiny child had managed to assist him in getting this far in his new journey.

A plethora of tiny rounded pebbles clinked quietly together as she walked. The sound of her steps shifting drastically as bare feet moved from gravel to boulder as the girl began her ascent. He felt as two supple arms wrapped around his collarbone, and two scraped knees around his abdomen, just under his jutting ribs. _Good, she understands when someone is trying to help._ He thought as his right foot dragged forwards, followed by his left. What undamaged muscles he still had in his legs, that were not stripped bare from their overexertion, burning under the strain. With a deep puff of air through his nose and a stretch of his back, the Mer pushed forwards. His pace quickening as his urge to find shelter for the evening overpowered his pain.

What memory he had of this striking land, told him they were not far from the nearest town. He would take in as much supplies as he could, and acquire a map. Before then leaving the kid in the hands of the innkeeper, and taking off for the wilderness to await the moment that his bounty would no longer be valid. Or perhaps for when he would be considered dead, whichever came first.

The brown haired Nord watched as the two travelled briskly through the trees. Her bark coloured eyes shifting uncomfortably back and forth with each crack of a branch or a shift of the leaves. She had never been in the forest this close to night time. There something in her that was expecting some form of a horrendous beast to lunge forth from the shadows, and maul her at every step. She most likely would be shaking again, if not for the heavy steps of the elf as they grounded her back into reality. When she craned her neck to the side, the sweet glow of Riverwood slowly began to light on the horizon. The inviting smell of freshly cooked meats and campfires wafting gently towards the two and pulling them forwards just as any proper host would.

But with the town in sight it also brought an air of curiosity, how did the Bosmer know where he was headed? Was this not his first time within the graces of Skyrim? Or maybe he was simply going by blind instinct, the small brunette didn’t know enough about this strange elf to be able to judge properly.

 

“Alright, hop off.” He ordered as the child shifted from his back and landed with a quiet thud upon the road. She pouted at him in response, and almost earned herself a scolding. Clearly, this small girl had been treated to the finer ways of life until recently- or at least her way of carrying herself stated as much. “Too sore to have you on my back.” The kid didn’t even deserve a damn reason for his choice, but his tired mind was going to give one anyway.

“Looks like nobody here knows what’s happened yet.” Came a voice from behind the two as Ralof had caught up to them. His eyes glinting tiredly in the light of the braziers to his left. The wounds he had acquired from both enemy soldier, and dragon alike glimmering dully in their glow. “Come with me, my sister Gurder runs the mill, and she can give you a place to stay for the night.”

Bizzmuth halted the blonde then and turned to face him properly. “I’d rather sleep at the Inn, I’m not too keen on resting my head in a Nord's house… No offence.” He heard the other chuckle and utter out something along the lines of ‘I understand’ before an old rasped cry filled the air.

“A dragon! I saw a bloody dragon.” Came the voice again, as an elderly woman swung herself forwards atop her old chair. Her son carefully striding forwards, to send a quick apologetic glance to those who had just entered the Village.

     “What is it now mother?” The dirty blonde questioned, his eyes hardening slightly in a feeble demand for the woman to close her mouth around strangers. But much like many other instances before he had a chance to silence her, she piped back up again.

      “It was as big as a mountain and as black as night! I saw it fly over the barrow it-”

“If you keep on like this mother, the guards will assume that you’ve gone mad and arrest you… Please, I fear for your safety.” The elderly woman snarled at that. Sven; as his village had grown to call him, winced as an old wrinkled hand slapped ungraciously against his chest.

      “It won’t be my safety you’ll be fearing for if that beast comes swooping in here. Burning down Riverwood with us in it boy! The end times are coming, and everyone should know that!” Barked Hilda in return as she watched her child roll his eyes and begin to walk away, his arms crossed impatiently behind his back.

     “Guess we weren’t the only ones who witnessed that hefty bastard…” The elf muttered under his breath, as he stretched out his shoulder and began to move again, eyes set towards the Inn. “Come on, kid. We can run around in fear once the sun opts to come up again. Until then: You should get some rest, and a large pint of ale is long overdue for me.” He added calmly as the aforementioned child dashed up to him, and waved back at the soldier when he turned and began down another route. “He’ll be around.” With a roll of his eyes, the Mer stepped up onto the deck of the Inn and swung open the large wooden door. The sweet smell of ale and food gently wafting into his nose as he took in a large, indulgent heave of the air. His pounding heart slowing itself down then. While his pupils, which had been dilated under the dimness of the dusk air, circled back to their normal sizes. His shoulders slowly slouched downward the longer he spent simply smelling the aroma of the tavern.

“You going inside or not, kid.” Grumbled the warrior as the little girl yelped out and dashed inside, her head low. Almost as if she expected her temporary travelling companion to take a swing at her for taking as long as she did. _Odd kid._ He concluded with a roll of his eyes. With one final nod, he moved forwards, out of the cold air and into the buildings warm embrace. His steps- though quickened- were calculated, and in mere seconds they had brought him to the only server awake at this hour.

The black haired Nord behind the bar immediately noticed as someone stepped up, and nodded his greetings to the large Bosmer once he was in hearing distance. “We’ve got rooms and food, drink too. I cook, ain’t much to tell.” He sauntered to the left to show off the merchandise. To the far left was a wide selection of ales from Elven to Nordic, and beside that was the mead. Due to the constant business wars between the two major breweries of Skyrim, both of the brands stood proudly in their own set places. The Black-Briar mead was garnished with small elegant flowers and vines to match the theme of the company. While the Honningbrew was surrounded by small glass bees, and fabric flowers with a small hive acting as the backdrop for the fair sized bottles. To the center of the large table behind tender were the meats, from the daintiest legs of rabbits to the largest cuts of venison coming in either raw or dried. The various spices melded within the rubs gently wafting towards the two newest patrons, with a smile and a grin.

To the furthest right of the shelf were the exotic types of meat and drink. Large bottles of Argonian Bloodwine glistening in a dark blue hue under the light of the taverns fires, with many a Sweetroll and cabbage surrounding it. Next to those were a few jugs of milk pressed firmly into ice. Beside those, were a fine variety of fishes, most of which were either caught in the river outside. Or, shipped from somewhere else in Skyrim.

“Strongest thing you have mate, today’s been a long one.” Bizzmuth rumbled out tiredly as a bottle of the Bloodwine was plopped in front of him. “And maybe a strip of dried venison if you’ve got it.” As the words left his mouth a large chunk of deer, possibly equal in length to his forearm was added to the items in front of him. Dark eyes stared almost bluntly at the large blue glass bottle. Before he then reached forwards and grabbed it with two sturdy hands. He knew that he wouldn’t have to pay until he intended to leave, as was a common trait with most Nordic establishments. And so with a nod and a grin, the cork on the bottle was placed between a set of razor-sharp canines and torn clean off.

Spitting the firm object across the room, he placed his mouth over the top of the bottle, tipped it back, and began to drink. That freezing feeling, which had ravaged his belly since he had been pressed against the headman's stone. At least a few hours ago by now, finally beginning to slowly dissipate with each gulp. The bloody visions of burning corpses, and ravaged sanctuaries blurring as he grew fuller and fuller. If he were back in Cyrodil, such a tightness would have been worrisome. But for the Mer who hadn’t sipped at the nectar of the gods in what felt like a century, it was more than welcomed.

The bottle continued to grow lighter, as its contents were guzzled away. Eventually, the last of its drops had found themselves sliding down the elves throat. With a pop of his lips as they released themselves from the bottle and a quiet gasp. The Mer stretched out his shoulder, his arm coming into contact with a particularly sticky liquid. Which was immediately brushed off as spilled ale.

    With more of him now on display, the child could see as a large gash on his forearm continued to spill its blood onto the bar. Her brows knitting upwards in concern when the thick red liquid began to drip from the table. “You’re hurt!” as the words were stated, the elves arm was immediately raised. She could see as his brow quirked in interest, as though he didn’t even know it was there.

“Ah, so th’ axe DID hit me after all. Hm, not the worst I’ve been through.” Why he found himself even revealing such a topic to someone so young. Nor why that particular child should care, didn’t seem to matter to the partly intoxicated male. But as a tiny hand pressed gently against his bicep, all of the elves attention was put onto the little girl.

“Let me heal it” she informed, as the gold and silver orbs of the wounded elf seemed to ignite with curiosity as he continued to stare. She wouldn’t begin to cast until she was given the permission to do so, in fear that the elf would hurt her for using magic on him.

“Um…” He paused, looking about the tavern for a moment, as though his answer would be somewhere around him. There was no sense in growing woozy from blood loss before he even began his journey. And thus, a small, lopsided grin grew onto the elves lips as he shrugged. It was a healing spell after all, and it wasn’t as though the little girl was going to do anything other than that, or so the elf reasoned. “Sure, why not” the warrior stated, with a nod.

A few seconds after the little girl began working to close the wound, Bizzmuth huffed and ordered up another round. This time in the form of two ales. “You drink?” he asked curiously, his eyes moving from the bar and back to the little Nord. The two requested items being set in front of him as he spoke. Drawing his right hand out, he set it onto the kids head, to draw her attention to him and not the healing.

The sheer size of the appendage and its warmth reminded her of her father. Thus, with a laugh and a shake of her head, she pulled her hand away to reveal a small scar in the place of the bloody cut. “I think I’m too young for that.” She answered gently as she found herself instinctively raising her own hand to press against the fingers of the other. They were calloused, and littered with a multitude of various scars. Some deep, and some shallow.

“More for me then I s’ppose” The Bosmer drawled as he tore open one of the ales with his teeth and placed it to his lips. This bottle was much smaller than the other and was downed in mere seconds with not breath, nor a stop. For a moment the Mer pondered the thought of storing the last of the two small bottles somewhere on him for a later time. But, as the realization came to him that there was not a single place TO store the liquid between the two. He let out a quiet whoop of laughter, shrugged his shoulders and downed the final ale. The same images from before finally fogging themselves out of his mind. “How much is a room?” Questioned the elf as a Blonde-haired Imperial stepped forwards, her arms crossed over her supple chest.

   “Forty gold worth of spirits, and ten for a room. Do you have fifty?” The Innkeeper responded rather pointedly, as she watched the two each throw a frown at the other. Clearly this patron- among many others, who opted to plague her Inn of all places- could not pay.  

“I know that this might not completely do it, but I can sell you these alchemical ingredients that I picked up on the way, if that will help…” Shifting around in her dress for the mentioned items, the child pulled out a small blue and pink bouquet. Her dainty hands being brought up, and forwards in a gentle form of offering.

“That’s about ten gold's worth of flowers. Where’s the forty more.” Delphine questioned bluntly as she gently pushed the little Childs hands away, flowers and all. “This is a gold-only establishment anyway, and bartering isn’t allowed.” She added firmly, as the sound of a patron shifting close behind her forced her to turn her head to him.

“Such a shame the prices in Skyrim are so high, no?” He began with a rumbling chuckle, as he moved forwards. His tall and lanky form pressing itself elegantly against the bar and his face stretching into a slender grin. “But, why not let someone else pay them for you, with only a simple errant expected in return?” The red-haired Altmer added smoothly. As he was thrown a questioning look from the two adventurers.

“What d’you want?” Bizzmuth questioned as one of his black brows quirked downwards as he then took a large bite out of his venison. While watching the newest addition to the conversation, as he crossed his left leg over his right.

         “A simple task, really. Head to Whiterun, more specifically to the castle known commonly as Dragon's Reach. Inform the jarl of the recent attacks. In return, I will reward you both: with a hundred coins each, a new set of clothing and a map of the entirety of Skyrim. How does that sound?” The smile of the elves grew slightly when the other member of his races eyes tilted back towards him. _Good. I have his attention now._ “That shouldn’t be too hard for you FEARLESS adventurers, would it?” He added in his same smoothened tone. His left hand outstretching to the Bosmer as he spoke.

“Why not?” The mention elf stated as he looked up to the wildly tall male, with a lopsided grin. His left hand grasping at the appendage which was offered. The idea of a free room _and_ drinks was one that was greatly intriguing at the moment. “Always good to start off an adventure with some coin.” He added in a quiet hum as the other chuckled quietly in return.

    “And you child? I can only assume that you are travelling with this Bosmer.” He addressed, his hand moving from the other Mers to the little girl. As though expecting the tiny Nord to follow with the common courtesies of a deal. A tensed silence filled the area around them, its tightness like that of a tourniquet.

    She didn’t move, not a breath nor a blink shifting her form as she continued to stare at the hand that was offered. The last time she had been this close to an Altmer was the night that her father had been slaughtered, and her farm had been razed to the ground. Everything, even down to this Mer’s aura rang Thalmor, even the way that he towered over her as no other had done before. Upon instinct, she stood and ducked herself behind the Bosmer. Her small albeit strong hands grasping tightly at his shoulders and back, as though she feared the nasty looking elf would steal her away.

    He stared for a moment, both of his blood red brows knitting in what almost felt like surprise. All he had done was offer confirmation for a deal, but the rather brainless child took it as though he were poised to kill. _Nords._ The emerald-eyed Mer sighed to himself, as he pulled his hand back and set it at his side. “I see… Well, here is the map. All you need to read it is a small amount of literary skill, one that most of our race seems to have, no?” The Altmer asked with a grin, as he saw the other nod, his chest puffing with pride. “Good. Now, once you are done, please do return to here. I would hate to have you two go underpaid for your services.” He added, as he turned and began to walk away, his long strides carrying him to his room in but a few small steps. “Have a fine evening you two!” He called with a tired grin and a wave as he took one final step, swung on his heel and closed the door behind him. The feigned smile that had splayed across his lips, disappearing as he did so.

 

Yawning, the Mer began to shift around within his satchel, until his hands clasped at a small, smooth stone. Its gold, brown, and black colouring shining gently in the light of the dim room, once his hand had grasped at it and pulled it from its leather pouch. Swiftly, his hands stretched out in front of him, long bony fingers straightening into place. The stone balancing precariously between his two thumbs, as a bright blue glow engulfed it. “This is Inquisitor Sonar, calling in.” His voice was slow, darkened eyes from lack of sleep closing for a moment. The item between his fingers beginning to hover in place, just high enough for him to lower his hands if he needed to.  

Finally, a smoky figure appeared above the gem. He appeared young, possibly only eighteen or nineteen winters of age. With rust coloured hair, and a single cardinal red eye; for his right was covered with a patch.

“Thank the gods that you are still alive general.” Huffed out the shadow, as he slouched slightly in place. His good eye sharpening to attention, as he watched his superior straighten into place, as though he were preparing to speak.

“Yes yes, much as one can be after having to maneuver through a crumbling village. With my eyes practically glued to the skies, in fear of being scorched, or eaten alive by a monstrous dragon.” He paused and took a few breaths to settle the harsh tightening of his throat, before sighing and shaking his head. “I am currently within the sleeping giant Inn of Riverwood. I was given the request to warn the Jarl of Whiterun hold of the attack, and the possibility of Riverwood being the things next target. Thus, I have already placed the deed onto another set of travellers’ shoulders.” He stopped again, this time to step back until he was sitting on his bed, and began to unbutton his shirt. “I should be getting an update on the situation, and a response from the Jarl by noon. Shortly after I have it, I will begin my trek back to the embassy with an estimated time of arrival at weeks end. I request that while I am travelling: you will be in the Athenaeum, searching for as much information as you can on our new scaly menace. Upon my arrival, I am expecting a FULL report. Are we clear?” The pale elf ordered as he watched the others grin grow.

“It would be of my greatest interests as well, to delve into the histories of the dragons. I’ll ensure to give you all the information our very halls have, and more!” The young voice stated with an influx of enthusiasm.

“I figured as much from you Fre, enjoy your studies. I have no doubts you will find something that will interest us both.” The general hummed with a grin, as he watched the other offer a quick salute. “I will see you when I return, until then this is Farewell. I wish you luck and all, and good evening.” General Sonar- as he was called when not traversing the many roads of Skyrim in search of information- stated with a return of the gesture. The spell drew itself away from the stone upon command and dropped itself into its owners’ hands.

It always gave him a feeling of pride, to witness such enthusiasm from his recruits. And thus, with one more _genuine_ grin, the elf nodded and swung his legs up onto his bed. There was no point in completely changing out of his peasants’ attire, as he would only be resting for a few hours. Before then rising well after the sun, to begin a pleasantly lazy day.

“Well, kid.” Bizzmuth began with a yawn, as he slowly dragged himself to his feet. “I think it’s high time that we retire for the night, and start up nice and early tomorrow. What d’you say?” The same lopsided grin as before grew onto his face, as he watched the little girl smile excitedly and hop off of the tall stool.

“I’ve never travelled at dawn before!” The brown haired Nord stated cheerfully as she skipped towards the two’s room. With not a care in the world, that she would be sharing her quarters with someone she had only met that afternoon. “Where’s our first destination after Whiterun?” She asked as the heavy set footsteps of the elf slowly began to follow behind her.

“All depends on what’s there for work.” The Bosmer informed quietly, as he leaned himself against the bedroom door for a moment to stretch out his shoulders. The dull throb from carrying the weight of the child still pressing harshly between the muscles.              So long as his answer would keep the kid quiet, just long enough to let him have a half decent night’s sleep. He’d be willing to put up with her for just the slightest bit longer. He began walking again, his legs dragging him to the bed where he promptly kicked off his boots then fell forwards into its soft embrace. His aching body straining harshly to accommodate itself with the now completely unfamiliar feeling of comfort. “You gonna lie down and get some rest, or just stand there staring at me the entire night?” He muttered out, gazing silently at the female in question, who promptly leapt a good foot in the air. Before then darting over to the large bed, and claiming her fair share of the covers. He paused to look at himself before then stripping off the first two layers of the mages attire he had stolen from a corpse back in Helgen. Thus leaving him in a sleeveless tunic with a high cotton neck, and a pair of black leggings. He then threw the pieces which he had peeled off across the room, the thick leathers hitting against the closet with a thud. His bow; which had been stripped along with the other layers, clattering against the wood of the dresser. Finally, he sunk down into the mattress again. The reddy brown blankets dragging themselves over him a few seconds later by the child.

“Sorry… I was thinking about the dragon….” The addressed female stated quietly with a frown, as she watched the other roll over to look at her. Fierce Gilt and Argent eyes gleaming like two lanterns in the dimness of the room. The only other light appearing in the form of a small candle behind the elf. He looked tired- more so than when they had first interacted back at Helgen. The closer she looked, the more scars seemed to appear on his body.

Before the child could make any more observations, the rather impatient ebony haired male rolled over onto his other side. An uttering of ‘night kid’ tearing wearily from his throat, as the room grew silent.

“Night.” She huffed out as she too turned so her back was to the other, and wove herself deeper into the covers. Her shoulders pressing tightly against her ears, and her legs against her chest. She felt safer this way, with most of her vitals covered if she laid right. She waited a few more minutes until the elf behind her had finally found it within himself to blow out the candle in front of him before she began to doze off. The quiet sounds of snoring filling the room once the sooty haired Mer had rolled onto his back

 

...

 

Sonar woke up stiff the next morning, shoulders knotted terribly and back aching from the hardness of the mattress. His crimson locks a chaotic mess of tussles and knots. Hs molten emerald eyes continued to fight to stay closed, long after their owner had deemed himself fit to rise.

The stress of the day before had left him far more wired than he had thought, and thus he was left with not an hour of proper sleep. A distant sound could be heard, and as his ears slowly began to function properly again it grew louder. Almost to the point of ear piercingly. The longer he heard it, the more familiar it became and a wash of hot annoyance stretched down his spine. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to have even half of a day in which the embassy wasn’t breathing down his bloody neck. _But I suppose it comes with the territory; I am a General after all. Which means I DID forfeit my right to complain._

With a groan, Sonar slowly dragged himself to his feet. There, sat precariously on the outer window frame sat a gold and brown hawk. It’s abdomen covered in a small black and gold gambeson, a proud sign of the embassy. With a swift motion, the glass item was opened, and the feathery messenger hopped up onto his shoulder. “Well then, let’s see what the ‘good old’ superiors want today, hm?” He found himself absentmindedly uttering, as he unrolled the small message and began to read:

_“Sonar,_

_I request that you continue your OWN investigation, instead of using the backs of the peasants around you. Do not act foolish, you know that so long as you are not within embassy walls, you must still work. No matter how ‘hard’ nor ‘frightening’ your encounters may be._

_I wish to have a full report as you arrive at the embassy, if we are to be prepared to combat these dragons. We must know how their possible leader acts, and the amount of time needed to commit to either fight. Or flight._

_That is all for now,_

_First emissary Elenwyn.”_

 

He frowned at that and shook his head, those orders sounded strangely like the ones he had handed to his tracker mere hours ago… _So much for my break,_ the Altmer mentally concluded. As he found himself sideling over to the mirror within his room, to begin re-adjusting his attire.

A loose Ashen Grey Tunic with a bishop styled sleeve. Tugged meticulously downwards at the wrists, and the hips. Over that, was a sleeveless black doublet with hints of gold at the collar and the shoulders. With gentle hands, this item was clasped back together and straightened.

His lower body was protected with a set of thick trousers, in the same colour of his Gambison. In light of Sonars need in mobility, and a lack of interest in upkeep, these items wrapped tightly around his frame. The only thing which still felt the cold of the inn were his hands and feet. These of which were covered with heavy brown leathers. Both were shaped to fit their owner, and their owner alone.

The final piece was a dark brown, weather-worn travelling cloak. An item in which the elf had possessed since he was possibly only fifteen winters old. Its smell was familiar to him: lavender and smoke. two common things that could be found throughout the embassy, no matter where one turned.

With one final cursory glance to the glorious being within his reflection, Sonar turned for the door. He was now ready to face the public again, as his hand graced the door it was promptly pulled away. His slender body twisting backwards, as he headed for the closet once more. There had been promises made, and thus they would have to be kept. Despite his lack of interest in following through with such trivial things. Thus, into the medium wooden dresser he drew. His hands travelling into the confines of his pack to bring two small satchels into the light. Their initial purpose was to hold small “gifts” for unsuspecting soldiers. Poisons, explosives, or other easily-made traps, but today’s the two packs would be earning a new purpose.

With the next few moment's wasted idly plopping an item into one bag or another. Sonar finally stepped back up to the wooden door. His mission north would begin with him relieving himself of the bags, without engaging in any unnecessary conversation. Before then beginning his way towards Whiterun, where he would gather his ordered information. If time permitted then, he had full intention of committing to his lazy day as soon as he was finished.

“Fair Morrow Barkeep, I am looking for the the Bosmer and the Nord whom I had spoken to last night. Would you mind telling me which room the two of them are in? I am expected to hand a pre-payment to them for a favour. And as much as I would like to pander around looking for them, I have certain things today which must be accomplished. Thus, I- sadly, do not have much time to waste.”

A large hand appeared from below the bar then, and pointed towards the room farthest from the two. It’s door tightly closed, and nearly silenced snores rumbling from within. “Ah, I see. Thank you kind sir!” Uttered the elf as he strode forwards, his hand slowly extending until soft skin met with metal. With a careful turn and a pull the wooded object was creaked open. In the center of the quarters was the bed, where the mentioned duo still slept completely unaware of their trespasser. As he stepped forward, his boots soundless on the ancient wooden floor. His eyes remained in the two as he drew open the dresser, before then procuring the two small bags. As he drew back, a hand slowly went for his pocket to bring forth a simple writing kit.  It would be Ill-mannered for a contractor to leave without giving their hirelings some last-minute orders. Even so, He wrote quickly, the quiet scribbling of the quil being faded out by the Bosmers rather obnoxious snoring. After quickly reading over his work to ensure it was of a satisfactory level- for someone who had just been rudely awoken mere minutes ago. This small parchment was silently torn from the book and laid neatly onto the Bosmers bag. After all, there was no need to hand a note to an illiterate.

Before he made to close the Armoire again, he sent a final cursory glance over to the sleeping pair. And nearly leapt out of his skin when the larger of the two spluttered something nearly cohesive, then turned so his back was to the Altmer. To ensure his safety, he waited a moment longer until he was sure he would not be noticed. Before then finally slinking his way over to the door, and finally out of the room. With a brisk turn, he lightly nudged the entryway closed again. His steps towards the bar needlessly careful, and his voice still dropped to nearly a whisper. “Thank you for your service, and- ah- good luck with the dragons.” Sonar muttered out to the          Inn-keeper as she appeared from her room. But before her answer could be heard, the tall amber had already stepped up to the exit way and swung it open. What small bits of the- clearly wise cracked- reply being drown out underneath the creak and slam which followed him out.

“And now? My true adventure begins.” With one final look at the sun slowly rising from behind the bountiful trees encircling the small town Sonar set forwards. His pace steady, and his eyes focused ahead. The ground glimmered with the lazy morning dew, and set his trail alight, and the babbling brook sent him a gentle greeting from his left. What few sounds rang out behind him now but a distant memory as his feet landed atop the stone bridge. It would be no more than an hours walk until he would be in the “glories” of Whiterun. The only redeeming qualities of that Nord infested cesspool of a city were its sturdy walls, hopefully just thick enough to ward off a dragon. And the spiced wine which the sweet, elderly Inn keeper always stowed away for him.

But, ordered were orders. And only a fool would not commit themselves to following what they had been told, especially with such a momentous mission laying on his shoulders.

 

She could hear as a door creaked open somewhere near her, then almost abruptly closed again moment's later. What small part of her that had began to rise from its slumber simply brushing the noise off as a confused patron. But the rest of her half-conscious mind made no effort of reassuring her, and fear began to pump through her. With a few more minutes of simply allowing that toe-curling discomfort to build, she finally lunged for the floor. Initially ducking what possible attack may be sent her way, before then darting for the exit. Old wood creaked in complaint as it was thrown open and the little girl of eight winters came barreling out. Her eyes wide with a mixture of concern, and sheer terror.

To her surprise and utter embarrassment though, once she had settled down enough to truly observe the area around her, there was not a threat in sight. The only other people awake being the Inn and bar keep. “Oh… Um…” She looked foolish, that much was known without either of the two so much as even uttering a word. “Go-good morning.” The brown haired female added as she took a large step backwards, and turned to face the bed again. _At least Mr. Bosmer didn’t see that, he’d probably think less of me than he already does._ Slowly taking a step forwards she pondered out waking the other and beginning their journey. But with how peacefully he was sleeping, she hesitated. After everything he had been through up until this point, he deserved at least a few more hours of rest to allow himself to heal up.

With a nod of confirmation, the Nord turned on her heels and wandered back out of the room. Her pace slow and steady as she entered the tavern again and wandered towards the door. Everything was plenty quieter than she would have expected, in comparison to the constant bustle of Helgen. Though she may not have been fully attuned to the silence, it most certainly was welcome.

“If the black haired Bosmer I am travelling with ends up waking up and coming out here before I come back, just let him know I’m doing some errands.” She called to the Barkeep as with a few more steps she arrived to the door and swung it open.

The sun was just beginning to peak over the eastern mountains as she stepped out onto the deck, and closed the door behind her. She then paused for a moment to take in the beauty of her surroundings. The harsh clang of the blacksmith as he hammered away at his weapons, the rustle of clothing as it shifted quietly upon its ivory line. The babble of the brook across the path of broken gravel.

How the dew still clinging desperately to the grass shone like diamonds in the early morning light. The tall pines which acted as Riverwoods most stoic guards, cracking and spluttering as animals climbed their branches.

And the smells, oh. The smells. Smoke from the forge told stories of Skyrims great history with smithing. While the aroma of freshly baked loaves from one of the many town’s people’s houses reminded her of the many artisans, which graced the land as well. The scent which seemed to speak to her the loudest being the gentle, earthy tones of the dampened trail. It didn’t even seem as though a dragon had attacked the next town over, or at least the civilians made no attempt to show it.

After a few more moments of attempting to pry herself out of her thoughts, she finally moved forwards. Her weight causing the old wood under her feet to creak and groan while she walked. She didn’t have to rush though, with how heavy her new friend had been sleeping, she could only assume that he would not be appearing for at least another hour. Which meant she could go along with her tasks, without even the slightest fear of being caught. As her bare feet touched the frigid stones of the trail she couldn’t help but shiver, her mind not entirely preparing her for that much of a shock. But as she continued to move forward, her feet grew warmer and warmer until her limp eventually turned into a regular gait.

“You.” Demanded the local bard as he saw the other of his race pass. His shoulders pinned backwards slightly and his eyes darkened with impatience, as he caught up with the little girl and stepped in front of her. “Will you help a fellow Nord out?” He added as he watched the other tilt her head to the side curiously. “I need you to give this to Camilla Valerius, tell her that it’s from Fendal.” The blonde added firmly as he pulled a folded parchment out of his pocket, and handed it over. “Come let me know when you’ve done it, and I’ll give you a couple of coins for your troubles.” He added as he began to walk past, thus leaving her to stand silently in the middle of the gravel road.

Unfolding the paper the child began to read its contents, her brows knitting up in concern at how nasty the words upon the paper truly were. _By the gods, if I give this to Camilla she’ll run poor Faendal out of town._ She thought as a large frown stretched across her face. She then wandered over to where the mentioned Bosmer would most likely be working, and tugged on his shirt to get his attention.

“Sir?” Came the child as the thin elf turned from chopping wood to look down at her curiously. His dark brown eyes shimmering elegantly when the sun came in contact with them.

“Good morning.” The white-haired Mer greeted happily as he placed the sharp blade aside and lowered himself down onto the chopping stump. So he could be at eye level with his guest. “How can I help?” He added gently, as he was handed a small, folded parchment which was still warm from someone’s pocket.

“Alright then, I’ll read this for you… Hm.

    _My dearest Camilla,_

_I know I have called upon you at your house many times, and while we may be growing close, I need you to put any desires you have for me aside. I am a true-born son of Valenwood, and I could never befoul my bloodline by courting an Imperial. I hope we can still remain true friends, provided you understand your peoples place in the Aldmeri Dominion, and respect me as such…._

Who wrote this?” Snarled the addressed elf, as he tore the note in half and threw it roughly to the ground at his feet. What kind-hearted sparkle he had within his eyes a few moments prior completely dying out. As the words of the terrible letter continued to ring in his ears.

“Sven asked me to give it to Camilla, to say that it was from you so that he could have a better chance at her liking him. But after I read the note it made me feel kinda sick, and I thought it would be a lot nicer if I just gave it to you instead. Even if he said that he’d pay me for lying.” The young Nord answered promptly, her eyes glimmering with the sincerest apology that she could muster.

    “I thank you kindly, child… It means a great deal to me that you’ve decided to give me that letter instead of following that Sven’s orders. Malatu ae lwaysa ewarde.” With a smile and a bow, the Mer reached into the sack on his belt, and pulled out a small pouch of forty gold. “Don’t spend it all in one place.” With that, he turned again and continued to chop his wood.  

    “No, Thank you so much Mister Faendal! I’ll ensure that every last coin is spent well!” She called excitedly over his chopping as she turned and ran towards the traders' shop, her coin purse held tightly against her chest as she did so. She had never held this much gold before, and couldn’t help but be drawn by the tantalizing call of some shoes.

With a quick turn and a few more steps, she had arrived at the trading post. A large smile beaming on her face, as she creaked open the thick wooden door and practically hopped inside. Just in time to witness a fierce argument between the two siblings about what almost sounded like a stolen antique, by how they were describing it. Once the fight had been halted, and Camilla had stormed upstairs. Cealy moved forwards, what items she had to sell promptly being placed onto the counter once it had gotten close enough.

“Excuse me.” She began, her quiet voice immediately getting the Redguard behind the counters attention. “Are you alright, did something happen?” She added innocently, as a loud exasperated sigh tore itself from the other.

     “More than I think you’d ever understand m’dear.” Lucan answered with a shake of his head. “A group of bloody bandits broke in last night and stole one thing…”

“One?”

“Yes. One. But that one thing is worth more than possibly all of my stock put together. It’s a dragon claw, made out of solid gold. I don’t know why I am even informing you of this, but if you can possibly bring it back to me. I’d be willing to pay half of its price to you.” The black haired male groaned as he watched the Nords’ face light up with excitement.

“Don’t worry Lucan! I’ll get it back for you! I won’t be alone!” The little girl responded triumphantly, as she watched the trader gather all she had, count everything, and hand her a purse of fifteen gold. “Thank you!” She called happily, as she snagged the purse and ran for the door.

From the moment she had stepped out of the merchants’, she estimated that she had only a half an hour left until the Mer would rise. With that knowledge, the child couldn’t think of anything better to pass the time with. Than by playing a rousing game of either hide and seek or tag, with the other children in the village. And so, after a few moments of searching for them. Followed by the usual greeting of the youths, she joined in with their game and disappeared deeper into the town to find a hiding spot.

His vision was hazy as he slowly awoke from his slumber, all of his muscles stiffened harshly to the core as he dragged himself into a sitting position. Whether he was truly awake or not, he couldn’t quite tell. But, all of his thoughts came screeching to a halt as a set of deathly cold hands grasped at his shoulders and shoved him downwards. His eyes catching what looked like a chopping block as he hit its stony surface. _No no, gods no…_ Bizzmuth thought, as an icy bite of terror slithered itself into his chest. _This can’t be real… This can’t be!_ He added with a violent turn of his head to desperately attempt to get a look at his executioner. But before he could, the sound of a swiping axe filled the air as with a gasp and a scream of “No!” The elf was thrown violently from his dream and onto a wooden floor.  
Burning eyes of Gold and Silver tore  open to stare at his surroundings in shock. The sweet scent of cooking meat slowly stepping towards him to wrap him in a sense of security. The furs of the blankets still coiled lazily around him reminding him of where he truly was.

“The Inn…” He gasped quietly as the soft hum of the bards’ guitar lulled him out of his tensed fear, and back into a feeling of calm. He was still in Skyrim. He was still safe. “Ooh thank the gods…” The Mer heaved out as he let his head fall back against the bed, so as to allow himself a few moments to catch his breath. His eyes slowly wandering their way up to see if his little outburst had awoken the child. “Oh.” The Onyx haired male muttered as he threw himself to his feet to confirm his worry. “Oh gods, oh fuck, oh gods.” He added hurriedly as he wildly searched the area around him. As though assuming that the little child had simply found another place in the room to rest, so his thrashing wouldn’t interrupt her. When not a hide nor a hair of the little brown haired Nord could be seen he sprang into action. Erratic feet throwing him towards the closet where his attire still lay in a heap from the night before.

The thick hide over-leggings nearly tore in some of the weaker areas as they were snagged. Then harshly yanked upwards from their trapped position underneath the elves heals. And the gambeson was no better. Some of the loose strings catching viciously upon his earrings.

After doing up the dark brown leather piece, the Mer realized that he had been holding his breath the entire time and took a moment to pant quietly. Before then pulling the short sleeved jacket up over the leathers. And wrapping his hands with the same old, bloody bandages which he had found with them. He then took up the leather Gorget and slipped it over his head, the threads which would have closed it around his collar bone- if it even fit properly that is- long since being discarded. “Should’ve just taken some of that gods-damned soldier gear…” Bizzmuth hissed impatiently as finally, he had reached the last few layers of the garb. The long piece of fabric that covered over the jacket was sloppily tugged into place, then fastened at the shoulders. With the shoddiest piece of armour he had ever seen, and at the waist by a tan, patterned belt. Quickly slinging the small apothecaries sack that came with the attire over his broadened chest. As well as the bow he had been given the evening prior, he ran for the door. As soon as it was open his wild search for the child began again.

He knew especially well what occurred to people if they abandoned the child that was with them in Skyrim, and was far from interested in being forced into prison again. “Barkeep!” He barked out, immediately getting the tall Nords attention. “Have you seen a wee girl go through here this morning, pale skin, brown hair? ‘Bout eight or nine.”

“Aye, left at around an hour after sunrise, don’t know where she went though.” Responded the man, as he heard a disgruntled sound from the elf, who quickly darted out the door, causing the black haired Nord to shake his head. It was not every day, that the male saw such fear in the eyes of someone who looked like they could completely eradicate an entire camp of bandits on their own.  

The child in question hid silently within a large brier of raspberries,  as the seeker continued their attempt to track her. She was the last one still in, and if there was one thing she could confidently say she was almost a master at by now, it was hiding. But, as a powerful looking Nordic woman matching the appearance that the kind Stormcloak soldier had offered her. She abandoned her post to follow the blonde until she had arrived at the mill. Well away from where other children still searched for her.

“Hello!” She began happily as the tall woman turned and looked down at her, she most certainly looked like Ralof. Or, at least she believed she heard his name to be as such. With the same strong jaw, high cheekbones and playfully narrowed eyes. The words of the other blonde then rang in her head, and she couldn’t help but snap her fingers in realization.  
“You must be Gurder, I’m Ralofs friend! Sorry, I couldn’t come to you sooner, my new friend and I needed a nap after our big fight with the Dragon. I’m Cealy by the way!” The little girl informed happily as the other nodded her head. Then led the both of them over to a hollowed out log, which resembled something along the lines of a chair.

“Aye, Ralof told me of you and your Bosmer ally, and how you escaped Helgen. I can only assume after that much of a harrowing adventure that you’d need some supplies. Wait here a moment, I’ll go fetch you some.” The addressed woman informed with a slowly appearing smile as she turned and wandered back towards her home.

The trek was short, and as she arrived she was greeted by her husband and her brother sitting idly at the table eating breakfast. What wounds her baby sibling had acquired in the battle he had undergone the afternoon before, long since being bandaged up. “Morning.” She greeted simply as she began to wander around the house, first to the shelf on the left to retrieve a bag. Then to the one on the right, to gather a few days’ worth of food: Including three carrots, an Eider Cheese slice, two bottles of Honningbrew Mead and two haunches of Rabbit. Three bright red apples, a loaf of bread with some homemade butter, and a piece of dried venison. By this point, the two other Nords were staring at her in confusion.

“You leaving me, wife?” Hod, her loving husband- of what may have felt like a century at some points in the two’s lives- asked with a joking laugh. As the mentioned woman turned to glare scornfully at him.

“You know as well as I, that there is no way in the hells of oblivion that I would leave you. Not in sickness nor in health. No matter how empty-headed you can be sometimes.” Gurder informed as she paced over to the dresser and began pulling out a few other items. Two sets of clothing: a tavern-mans’ attire for the Bosmer Ralof had mentioned and a pretty green dress for the little girl. Along with a small kit of ten lock picks, and a silver ring and necklace. Then finally, she came to the table where a set of four bottles of minor healing potion sat ready to be used. “I’ll need these boys, if y’ want your own go tell Belethor that I sent you and you’ll get a discount. If not? I’ll just cut off his firewood.” The woman informed as she stuffed the items into the bag, and clasped it shut. “There, I think this ought to be good enough for them, until they can earn some money, don’t you boys think?”

“Add a dagger Sis, you know that they’ll need one eventually.” Came Ralof, as he pulled a steel knife from his hip and handed it over. A grin of pride stretching across his face.

“Are you sure you want to give this away brother? This blade was made directly in Windhelm for _you_.” Gurder questioned hesitantly as she watched the other nod. The same look still held firmly on his face, as she gently took the dagger and tied it to the side of the brown satchel.

“I’d be honoured to have one of those two wield this dagger, to bring about a new story for themselves, and the world around them. Besides Gurder, I’ll need to head to Windhelm soon anyways to ensure that Jarl Ulfric knows that I made it out alright.” The male finished as with one final nod to the woman, he turned and continued eating. Thus leaving the lumberjack of the village to finish her search for a few more items, and head towards the door.

“I’ll be back by dusk, I hope that by then you two have done a single thing productive.” With that, the old wood was swung open and the Blonde Nord marched back out into the sun. Its rays finally shining down on the little village of Riverwood at its full morning strength. “Now. Back to Cealy.” She muttered as with one more look over to the other children to ensure her own was playing nice, she began to walk. Heavy set boots thumping an almost thoughtful rhythm upon the stone pathway.

In minutes, she had returned to the child, who had shifted from the ground to the makeshift chair, as she waited patiently for the other Nord to return. “Here you go, that should be enough to get you through to Whiterun alright. And here, a little bit of coin for food, and a room at the bannered mare.” With the small bag came a sack of forty coins, which the child took happily with a chirp.

“Thank you Gurder! We’ll ensure to head to Whiterun right away, I’ll go get my Bosmer friend and go right now.” Cealy informed happily as she hopped up from the stump. Gave the woman in front of her one last tight hug, then sped off back towards the Inn. Hopefully, her elven friend would’ve gotten himself up by now and found some breakfast, so that the two could simply leave the tavern.

As the sound of yelling children ebbed closer, she sped up her pace from a gait to a sprint and fired herself closer towards the building which held her friend. Her speed allowing her to arrive mere seconds later.

The same creak of the deck welcomed her with open arms as she skidded to a stop at the door, and swung it open. She was half expecting the larger-than-average Mer to be standing in the doorway, patiently waiting for her return. To her surprise though, the elf in question was nowhere to be seen, and as she trekked over to their room. She found that he wasn't there either. _Oh no… Maybe he thinks that I left him, and has moved on…_ The little girl thought uncomfortably, as she wandered back out into the tavern and sat herself down on a bench close to the alchemy table. A frown stretching across her lips as she placed her face to her fist. “Now what? I’ll never be able to get to Whiterun alone…” Cealy thought sadly, with a shake of her head as the sound of the door slamming open rang throughout the bar.

“For the love of the Aedra and the Daedra, next time you wanna go running around the town, will you TELL me first?!” Snapped Bizzmuth as he stormed forth, and stood towering over the child. Who immediately flew into attention as soon as she heard his voice. “You might not know, or care. But there’s a LAW about leaving children, and I’m gonna tell you right now. The last thing I want is to be thrown behind bars because of something that wasn’t even MY doing this time.” The gossamer haired thief added in annoyance, as he watched the little Nords features soften sheepishly.  

       “You looked like you needed sleep, I didn’t wanna bother you.” The little Nord responded sheepishly, as she rubbed behind her head. “Sorry for worrying you, Mister.” She added as she watched the elves scowl soften slightly, his head shaking in response.

“Whatever, let’s just wake up our contractor and be on our way.” The elf responded, as he peaked into the mentioned Altmers room and groaned. Why was it always in the Altmer nature to ditch, before paying their deals? “I feel like I’m being a bit unrealistic here, but let’s go check our room.” With that, he wandered across the mead hall and began to search their sleeping quarters. Once he had set foot in the Center of the room, his eyes set to work. His training as a thief remaining him to look for the slightest bit of misplacement. The smallest things could be intentional, if one had a good enough sense of detection. In seconds, his gaze caught the closet: it’s right door opened just a sliver more than it was the night before. With a few calculated steps- the thought of a trap lingering in his mind- the Bosmer arrived at the door. Instinctively, Bissmuth grabbed for the other handle and swung the door open. There, nestled against the opposite side were two bags. One in blue, and one in a dark brown leather. Light hints of lavender rose to his nostrils as he took in a quick cursory sniff. “Kid!” He called firmly, as the little girl appeared at the door “found our stuff, and a note too.” He informed plucking up the parchment which sat balanced upon the top of one of them and began to read.

“ _Good Morning Travelers!_

_Since you are reading this note that means that I am no longer present at the Inn. And for that, I humbly apologize. But, a much more pressing matter has arisen, and I had no choice but to leave rather early this morning. I should be returning by sundown if I am lucky, if not, then I do hope that your travels yield many an adventure and many a tale to tell. Within the two bags, I have disclosed for you both: a weeks’ worth of food, two sets of clothing each, a map for both of you and the payment I had promised last night; split evenly of course._

_As for weapons, I am sorry that I could not have supplied some for you, but mine cannot be simply given away without the fear of anger from my employer. I am sorry again for the inconvenience which may come with purchasing some much-needed protection._

_If time permits we may even meet each other in Whiterun! I hope to see you again soon, but if not ‘Ai farse tashvie sa ni on va pen vas!’_

_This is goodbye for now, but not forever_

_yours truly,_

_Sonar._

Well then.” Bizzmuth muttered to himself with a concealed chuckle as he pulled the two leather knapsacks from the dresser and dumped them out on the bed. “We should both clear out what supplies we have, and decide who's gonna be carrying what. Don’t you think?” The little girl nodded at him and dumped out her two bags as well. Immediately his eyes caught to the coin purse laying directly between the two, brows quirking up in half-hearted confusion as he rolled it over with his hands. Much to his surprise, it was heavy, much heavier than any child should’ve been carrying. “What’d you do yo get all this?” He rumbled out as the other flashed him a bright smile and shrugged her shoulders.

“Weeell, I went and told Faendal that Sven wanted me to lie to Camilla about him for him. Then, I went and sold the flowers I tried to offer to the lady Innkeeper, then I found Gurder and she gave me some with the supplies. That way, we can get ourselves a room and food once we get to Whiterun. But I don’t think we’ll need to anymore with all of these yummy foods here. And finally, the scary Altmer gave me my half of the pay! Why?” Something in the eyes of the other made her skin crawl.

       “Don’t you think _I_ should be holding all that?” He questioned intently as he rolled it closer to him. Only for the little girl to swipe it away from his fingertips, and hold it close to her chest. A molten strike of distrust burning in her eyes.

      “Can’t I hold my own- well earned- gold?” She almost pleaded as the other threw her a flat look, her blood slowly beginning to boil. He had his fifty, how come that wasn’t enough for the elf? What would _he_ do with it, that she didn’t already intend to? “I can do it you know, I’m not a baby.” Her face hardened as a scoff of disbelief tore from the others mouth.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry, of course. You’ve faced pickpockets before, and bandits haven’t you? I can see it in your eyes, you’ve fought to the death for your gold before. Forgive me, kid, I couldn’t see it until now.” Her face soured further and she oh-so-childishly put the purse behind her back, thus making him roll his eyes. “What the hell am I gonna do with it, save for watch it for you?” _Everything_ countered his mind as a sharpness came to his eyes. He still had full intention of dropping the kid somewhere and heading off on his own after all. The gold would be one of the most important assets he had until work could be found.  But instead, a wee little Nord who couldn’t grasp its value currently held it between her untrained hands.

He had to give her credit though, despite his words and his size she still kept an unmoving resolve. It was that type of determination that would let her survive long after he had left her in the dust. But his was just as strong, if not a stronger and those coins deserved one more try. “What are you gonna do with em? Buy our rooms? Make sure if we have to go Dungeon hunting that we won’t end up getting killed, ma-”

      “If that’s what you need me to do, then fine!” Barked Cealy as the air seemed to light aflame, a set of surprised eyes now staring down at her. “I don’t wanna just be dead weight, and if I have to help pay for things, I’m fine with that being my job. We’re a team, you’re my new friend, and I wanna help.” She took a moment to take in her breath, as a small childish grin stretched across her features. “Besides! Most of that helps me too!”

“ _Well_ then, I suppose if that’s how it’s gonna be, then fine.” With that, all hopes of him managing to get the gold disappeared with the purse into the others bag. Shaking his head Bizzmuth then began to look over the rest of the supplies. As he thought about it more, it became rather clear that the kid- despite her being a kid- had a point. If she really had done all of that, then it was her gold through and through. If he didn’t still see himself as bound to the tenants of both the Thieves Guild, and the Dark Brotherhood- he would’ve just plotted a time to nab the gold when she was unaware. But his training had taught him better than such petty thievery.

“Said there’s a merchant here yeah? Guess I’ll just have to stop off at his place before we start travelling, so I can even the score a little. Innkeeper might want some of this food too, I’m more of a meat-eating creature. So these vegetables _really_ aren’t gonna do it for me.” He made a move for a good portion of their dried Venison. And when the kid didn’t counter him, he wrapped them all up together and set them into the knapsack supplied. Then he looked over the clothes, both of the items that the Altmer had given were about an inch short on either side of being able to cover his chest, and the legs were what looked a foot too long. But the items in which Gurdur- or at least that’s what he heard their name to be- appeared as though they’d fit like a glove. The set consisted of a heavy white shirt, with a set of black leather boots, brown pants and cotton socks- the set looked a hell of a lot more logical than the shit he was currently wearing. Come to think of it, there were quite a few bits and pieces of what he was wearing that should be in the pile he’d be selling. Thus he began to strip off a few of the layers. The enchanted over fabric half-hazardly being balled and placed along-side the other items, as well as the cotton shirt which went with it. In the end, Bizzmuth now stood in a heavy canvas gambeson, leather gorget and hoes, with the underclothing resting below. All of which the past owner had added onto the original attire- most likely in hopes of protecting himself in case of an attack. _Considering the way we found the poor sod? He didn’t use it properly anyway._

With that damnable fabric distraction now out of his way, he continued on. All of his attention locking to the bright red apples currently sitting to his left, his mouth watered and his stomach groaned as he snatched one up and began to take a few bites while he searched. The remaining two being passed into his pack as he did so. With a few more minutes of looking, the Bosmer had opted to equip himself with the full supply of lockpicks, half of their slice of cheese, the two meads, a carrot and a quadruplet of healing potions. These of which Cealy had been determined to put onto his possession, claiming that ‘if he was going to be the one protecting them both. That he’d need them’.

With everything packed away, and what he intended to sell on top Bizzmuth clapped his hands, and nodded. “Should be good now, I’m gonna step out into the tavern and you ought to get changed and clean up a little. I don’t want you looking _too_ much like an orphan.” As he moved forwards, a pillow was hurled his way, thus prompting him to veer downwards and allow the down filled item to soar overhead. “Gonna have to do better than that.” Before he had given her a chance to do so he’d stepped outside. Whipping the door closed behind him, as a threatening whoosh of air cautioned him of what was coming.

 

Once Cealy was alone in the room she quickly snatched the note and read over it again, mostly to ensure not a single word had been skipped in the interest of time. Even now, she couldn’t help but wonder why in Talos’ name such an evil looking being would so graciously give away his supplies. Especially in return for what seemed like such an obviously simple errand. How could someone be so above going to the City to tell Jarl Balgruuf themselves? The more she thought, the more a sick feeling of dread began to coil within her belly. What if he was at Helgen when the dragon attacked? It would explain how he had so much knowledge of the current situation and something about that gaze of his seemed sickly familiar. _What if there’s a trap waiting for us? Or worse… What if it was the Thalmor that set that dragon loose, and they need to keep us alive to test out its REAL power?_

Her body shuddered at the thought, and for a moment she was lost in what felt like her own little world of fear until-

“Hey kid, are you ready or not?” Barked Bizzmuth from the other side of the door as he adjusted his posture so he was leaning against the wall beside the door frame. With all of this time he had, he could’ve gotten to the merchants' shop and back by now. But instead, here he stood- eyes set dead ahead and staring at what felt like nothing and everything all at once.

“I- Ya! I’m- um… I’m just doing up the buttons” She called out as she threw the note down to the ground and quickly looked over the remainder of the supplies. To one side of the bed was a set of red and brown boys clothing and to the other a stunning green dress. She relished in its softness, how the fabric seemed to draw itself towards her fingers when she ran a hand across the pine green surface. But, she wouldn’t be simply staying in town any longer, and thus the lack of mobility would be more of a hassle, than a help. With an almost pained groan, she sullenly folded up the loose-fitting garment and put it into her pack. Hopefully, there would be a time in which she could wear it in peace. Thus, she was left with what her male counterparts were forced to wear. A cold rush of discomfort running up her spine as she stripped off the remains of the clothes she was wearing and pulled up the bottoms. They were terribly itchy, and her skin crawled on contact. The shirt was no better, but at least she would be able to run around easier and although she hated to admit it, they were also plenty warmer. _Thank you Mr. Thalmor._ She thought with an edge of annoyance as she began to pack away the rest of the supplies into her pack. She’d never had this many possessions before. Despite them all being of a simple, albeit mundane nature, they each mattered to her equally. And she would-

“Kid!”

“Coming, coming! By Talos are all elves this impatient?” The little girl yelled in return as she slung her bag onto her shoulders. Its weight causing the wool to scratch even harder against her back. She then slipped on the boots she had been given couldn’t help but squeak in satisfaction. They were just small enough not to fall off, but just large enough that she still had a bit to grow into them. Thus, thus they would last her longer than simply a few months at most.  
With a new found feeling of confidence she moved forwards, her bouncing steps taking her to the door in seconds. Once it was opened, it revealed her Bosmer companion impatiently waiting.

“So does this mean I get to travel with you?” Cealy asked excitedly as she slung her hands in front of her. Dark brown brows raising up as she stared at her friend with unyielding expectation.

“You can for now I suppose, but don’t expect this to last… I don’t- hm- I’m not the type to carry around children. Let alone other travelling partners in general.” Bizzmuth answered as he adjusted the bandages around his wrists before then beginning to move towards the door. The quiet sound of the little girls’ feet skipping along to his left.

“So, I know the smith in Whiterun, and if we ask really nicely he can probably set us both up with some really high-quality armour and weapons for a nice discount.” The child with her bark brown hair informed as the silver and gold eyes of her travelling companion landed onto her. By no means did they seem to agree to the suggestion. Instead, the gleam was flat, almost as though she had just said something foolish.

        “Listen, kid, you wanna run with me? You’re gonna follow _my_ way of doing things to the letter. And going to waste what little gold we have to our names, on some fancy dancy custom made armour and weapons is NOT on the list.”  He responded simply, as he adjusted the knapsack on his broad shoulders, before then opening up the door. “I’m a scavenger, if I’m in a merchants place I’m there to get myself potions, lockpicks and arrows. Or I’m selling things. That’s it, if I can’t find what I’m looking for in a ruin or something like it, then it’s not worth having.” The Bosmer added as he watched the little girl step out into the early morning air. The sweet smell of damp gravel gently wafting towards him with the pass of a breeze.      
“Come on then, we ought to get moving, I still have my things to sell and I don’t think there’s a single village in skyrim that would be willing to be attacked by a dragon. Without at least even the slightest bit of notice first.” He informed as with a swift movement of his shoulder in the direction of the traders, he began to move. Short calculated strides taking him forwards until the tell-tale sign appeared ahead. “Wait out here, I’ll be back in a second.”

 

With the game still fresh in her mind, Cealy made every attempt to ensure she was not in plain sight. Moving from bushes, to behind one of the large posts which supported the frontal bit of the shop. As the remaining players occasionally passed her. Every noise could have been considered a threat now, and thus each one was followed by either a silenced gasp or a jump. But when a large, warm, hand clasped around her shoulder a shriek tore from her form. She turned quickly to attempt to fight whoever it was. Only to pause, and heave a sigh of relief when she noticed it was just her newest companion: now carrying what appeared to be a much lighter bag. “Ready to go then?” She asked as with a silent nod she was moved towards where the other assumed the great city was, instinctively she got herself around to his side. Using the sheer mass of the Bosmer to cover herself from the view of the other children, and thus giving her a proper, and safe, passage out of the city.

“What’re you doing?”

“I was playing hide and seek before you woke up, and the other kids of the village still think I’m playing. Just keep walking normally, I don’t wanna lose.” Squeaked the little girl in return as her shoulders rose to attention, and her eyes darted to and fro.

       “Right.” With a final dismissive huff, Bizzmuth adjusted his knapsack and picked his pace up slightly, the early morning sun spurring him towards Whiterun. His strides were even, and his form mirrored that of a fighter: body low and eyes set forwards. But his arms slung loosely at his side, and his chest felt damn near hollow. This action surprised him. For, on any common day, his muscles would automatically tense themselves in preparation for an attack. Especially after the chaos that had occurred within Bravil. The more he thought, the stronger the scent of blood and smoke began to make his nose burn again. He had had a chance to save his kin, but at that very moment, the only being on that battlefield that mattered to him was himself.  
_Considering my throat, even that was a failed attempt…_ One of his large hands slowly came up to grasp at the scarring which ran across the center of his neck. An almost dull throbbing passing itself from the scars to the fingers. A dark memory of why keeping to himself would keep him alive longer than not.

The only thing which drug him back into the present was a soft hum coming from a few feet below him. It almost sounded shrill, and he couldn't help but shiver slightly at the realization that he still wasn’t alone. He continued to glance down every so often, the eyes of the two finally met and he almost couldn’t tear his away again. There was something about those orbs of earth. Which- currently stared up at him with an almost discerning amount of interest- that just made him… Uncomfortable.

 

     “You never told me your name, I’m Cealy! What do you want me to call you?” The little girl asked as the other turned his head back up towards the trail. Something about him seemed to indicate that he wasn’t expecting such a simple question to be asked.

“Bizzmuth.” It was short and choppy, he chided himself for the tone, before then shaking his head with a huff. “The names Bizzmuth.” He corrected. Usually, those who travelled with him didn’t ask such such trivial things. What is the point of asking your worker their name. When after all is said and done, you would never interact again? _She’s NOT my employer_ his mind grumbled. Perhaps, it was alright that she knew, at least until he could find his way to Riften to drop her somewhere safe.

       Her smile grew at his response, she’d never met an elf with that name before. It was a lovely name and had a lot of character to it. It suited him, even though she barely knew the elf. Something about him felt almost welcoming, even though his blank stare attempted to say otherwise. “I like that name!” Cealy finally stated once she remembered that she hadn’t responded yet.  
As she continued to look at the Bosmer, another question popped into her head. Though it may have been obvious by their first interaction, she still wanted to ask. “The other two elves spoke in a language I’ve never heard before, I’m wondering do you-”

“What did they say?” Came the Bizzmuth quickly, as he felt his ears perking in interest. His eyes may still be focused ahead of him for danger- but a good piece of his attention stayed on the girl. It had been years since someone had asked him to be a translator. Though he may be doing it for free now, his linguistics still needed the practice.

“The first was something like…  M-malat aee lahawya edwarde....” Cealy informed slowly as she felt her lips purse slightly in self-reproof. It sounded so fluent when Faendal had said it, but when she tried it just sounded like gibberish. “And the second was in Sonar’s note to us… Something like: Inne reverse ya fasee loose?” The elf stopped then and released a quiet chuckle, as his arms crossed at his chest and he shook his head.

“Malatu ae lwaysa ewarde is the first one, and you god damned butchered it. Ma-la-too ah lay-sa you-ward, and it means ‘the truth is always rewarded.’ And the second one is even worse than the first… This is how you say it Ee f-are t-ah-sh-have-ee s-ah n-ee on v-ah p-en v-ah-ss which loosely translates to ‘may you find good fortune on the open road.’ so in terms, he’s saying ‘good luck on your adventures’.

“Now, it’s my turn to ask some questions… You from around here?” It was common traveller talk and would diminish any thoughts that the elf honestly didn’t know what to speak of. Or so he hoped.

She blinked at the question, still trying to memorize the two statements in hopes of using them eventually, before forcing herself to return to the present. “Well,” She began as the two started to move again, the sun now on their backs. “I was born here, actually. If you asked me to point to it on a map, I wouldn’t be able to do it, but what I can tell is that I lived alone with my papa. I never knew my mama, but papa told me she passed on when I was very young. For the majority of my time, I was stuck in the _terrible_ orphanage in Riften, after the nasty Thalmor had burned down my homestead and left me without my papa. Then I ran, really really far away, far enough that those evil elves wouldn’t be able to track me, and eventually found myself in Whiterun. I spent a while living with Eurolund the blacksmith, and helping with the companions in any way I could…”  Her head followed her eyes downward, and she paused for a moment to halt the weight that attempted to choke her frame. Before then continuing “When things started getting rough in Skyrim, thanks to the war, I got a letter from a friend of mine in Helgen, and I made my way over there. That's my story." It almost felt liberating to tell her tale to this elf, who she still knew only his name.

“What about you, what’s your story?” Cealy added as her eyes yet again rose up to look at the face of the other half of her conversation.

He paused for a moment, yet again drawing a blank. It wasn’t as though they were friends, upcoming or otherwise. So, why did this little kid care? He found a distraction seconds after, and bounded up onto the thick stone railing on the side of the bridge. The sound of the wind filling the gaps his mind couldn’t at the moment. “I don’t think you’d like my story.” Bizzmuth finally declared with a huff.

“Oh. I-I didn’t mean to overstep. I’m sorry.” The Nord quickly responded as the silence between the two almost became sharp. Perhaps now wasn’t entirely the safest time to ask. She understood why the Bosmer wouldn't be completely open to sharing his past. Especially with a little girl at that… _Maybe, if I get close enough to him, he’ll eventually tell me!_ Cealy mentally sang in excitement, as her smile- which had disappeared moments before- returned tenfold.

“Its fine, been asked too many times in much wilder ways to start getting offended by it now.” His voice trailed off, as he leapt off the railing and back onto the gravel trail. There was that tensed silence again, somewhere between almost saddened and clueless. “After this, we’re heading to Riften. Just so you know.” He added, not entirely wanting to state aloud that he’d be dropping the kid off at the orphanage after they did their business in Whiterun. _She’ll get over it…_ Hegroaned, as the cold hand of doubt stroked at the center of his back. _You did._ His mind added, and for a moment Bizzmuth was sorely reminded of his ‘lovely’ times in that type of hellish place.

     How a young Imperial, who had been tossed around from orphanage to orphanage described ‘honor hall’ was beyond anything a child should be forced to deal with.

But, this was a Nord, and as all of them seemingly promised with every second breath they would ‘always endure’. In his thought, his eyes wandered over to the little girl, so young, so innocent. _Oh._ His ears tipped downward as he saw the terrified look that stretched across her face as he spoke, _Damn._ He had little options, and the law of children still loomed over him like an anvil. Waiting to crush his very hope of being free if he said the wrong thing.

 

“Uh…” Why couldn’t he think of what to say? He was good at lying! It came commonly with the territory of his work. But his eyes refused to tear off the little girl, and her frightened face, a sense of pause stretching through him. Was he honestly cruel enough to throw the person who had saved his sorry ass into a home. That was almost identical to the one of his childhood? To have the thought that he had just abandoned a little girl in a hell, that she herself had escaped most likely not long ago. _You may need someone to carry things… And followers ARE expensive._ There was that reasoning again, completely changed, as though another had overtaken his mind. “Look…” The Bosmer had to think quickly, or else he knew- Cealy, was it?- Would run, like all others her age when presented with fear. It took all he had in him, to force out as much of a reassuring chuckle as he could and shake his head.

“Do you _honestly_ think I’d dump you off in that hell hole? I know how orphanages are, and believe it or not, I’m not _that_ heartless” He forced himself to say.

      She stared at him quizzically for a moment, ensuring that he wasn’t lying before giving a smile about twice the size as it was before. “Great! Thank you Mist- Bizzmuth, I’ll ensure to impress!” Cealy stated with excitement, as she saw the corners of the others lips tug up slightly, or perhaps it was just the sun.

       He had already formed a response for the girl, when the words died in his throat. Whiterun had changed since he had seen it last, and by all means it was for the better. Although he could only make out glimpses of the magnificent stone palace. Which, in addition to being the home of the jarl; a man rumored to live up to the title and honor with not a single amount of effort. Served as the center of all military and political movements for the hold. As his eyes wandered downwards slightly, he could see the stone walls standing guard around the premise of the city. Fully prepared to lay down their lives to protect the inner workings. A whistle found itself from his mouth as he continued looking on, only just getting his words back.

“Would you look at that.” The Mer began, the corners of his lips beginning to turn upwards into an impressed smirk. “Sanshin wasn’t lying when he said this place looked nice.” the assassin muttered under his breath, as they began their way closer to the gates, the sweet aroma from the Meadery coaxing a small bit of extra saliva to the elves mouth. If he thought that his first drink of freedom was the nectar of the gods, fresh ale put all others to shame.

    “That’s where we’re headed” Cealy enlightened with a nod. As per usual with most her size, she found herself having a lacking interest for traveling alone much. Her small form making her an easy kill for any of the nasty groups that prowl the roads. But, with this equally intimidating looking Bosmer at her side, the young Nord found herself reconsidering slightly. Once they became closer friends, it would be a near cakewalk for the two to journey around this land as though it were theirs. The thought of the adventure sent shocks of excitement travelling down her neck.  Finally, she’d be joining the ranks of her fellow Nords around a fire, with many a story to tell.

 

    Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard her companion state something about a ‘redheaded Altmer’. Immediately whipping and her head upwards to see where he was indicating. Sure enough, a tall elf matching the description perfectly reappeared from behind a bush, and entered the city. He looked familiar, and thus, the same cold feeling that ran up and down her spine before began. She was hoping never to see that particular elf again. “Something about him scares me…” It was stated on impulse really. But for one so young, it seemed understandable, especially with her experience.

“Seen some pretty nasty people in my day’s kid… I don’t think that Altmers one of them. C’mon, he did _pay_ us pretty well after all, and for a simple task at that. He can’t be all terrible.” Bizzmuth responded, with a shrug.

“He reminds me of the Thalmor.” She responded in a mere whisper, as upon instinct her tiny frame hid itself behind the large Bosmers arm. Seconds later, a quiet yelp emitted from the girl, as she heard the other let out a whoop of laughter.

       “Kid.” He gauwaffed. “I don’t think we know the same Thalmor, because last I checked. Th-those numb skulls were too far up themselves to wear anything but their fancy ass uniforms. Especially when entering a city!” He added, still trying to come down from the initial shock.

Finally regaining his composure, the elf wiped a single tear from his right eye, before taking in a deep breath of air and shaking his head “Ugh. I- I thought you were joking around for a second. Phew, the day the Thalmor actually start sending in undercover agents into major cities to scout information. Is the day gods damned _dragons_ start coming back.” The Bosmer added with a shake of his head.

She furrowed her brows as he laughed, unsure of what was so funny about a group of killers before shaking her head. “I- I just don’t trust him…” Cealy clarified, immediately halting the residual snickers that came out of the Bosmer. As he considered what the girl had said.

“I- Yeah, I guess I can see why you’d see him that way. But, for the moment, he isn’t our problem. We’ve got a Jarl to talk to, and I’ve got myself some ale that needs drinking.” The Gold and Silver eyed Mer found himself singing out, his grin growing slightly as the thought of the drink poured itself into his head.

 

It took the two a few additional minutes to arrive at the gate, and as they did, a guard dressed in dark blue fabric with brown leather securing it to his person stepped forth. His weapon drawn and ready. “Halt!” he demanded, and watched as the travelers did as such. “City’s closed with the dragon attack, official business only.” He added, as the older of the two stepped forth.

“I think this will be the most official thing you’ve heard all day mate, I have word from Helgen, and my… Ah, my partner and I are here to inform your Jarl all about it. So if you would be so kind as to open the gates, your city might just have some calm before a storm.” Bizzmuth stated simply, as he watched the other man nod, before quickly walking over to the wood and steel door and unlocking it.

“Gates open, I don’t want to hear of any trouble from either of you while you’re here, are we clear?” The man asked as he got a grunt of agreement from the larger of the two as they passed, and entered into the city.

 

It had taken the pair not even ten steps to be thrown into the politics of Whiterun, as a large blonde haired Nord came marching up to them. His imperial armor swishing quietly at his knees. Those who lived in the capital city knew this man as Idolf Battleborn. But the Bosmer found it within himself to simply brand him as an annoyance. “Grey Mane or Battleborn?” He snarled, mostly to the black haired elf, who returned the look with a sharpness. Which would have sliced flesh, if manifested physically.

“What do you want?” The Mer responded back harshly, as he leaned himself forwards. Forcing his possible opponent backwards with what seemed to be only the sheer ferocity of his glare. Broadened shoulders outstretching slightly, and arms moving to his sides as though preparing to grasp at a set of non-existent daggers.

         “He’s asking you to pick a side.” Cealy clarified with a frown, as she raised her fist to the air in triumph. “Greymane!” She yelled out, before grabbing her companion at his wrist and beginning to run, dragging him along with her. Those tiny clicking steps of hers carrying her up one set of stairs through the wind district and up then another. Finally bringing the two into the main yard of the most fearless warriors in all of Skyrim. To their left towered a great overturned boat, decorated with various flags and shields, and to their right was another set of stairs. Unlike those which the two had most recently climbed, these were carved of a darker stones. Their faces still straight, as though they were rarely used. “We’re almost there.” The child informed with a quiet giggle as she clenched the elves hand a little tighter and began her ascent.

      “Almost where?” Barked the addressed male as he was tugged further and further up, until the wall of steps gave way to stunning scenery. As the final stair was pressed under his foot, he froze, eyes wide and ears perked in attention. Above him was a mighty forge, its shape resembling that of a hawk. Underneath the great bird was a complete set of forging tools. All made of the same stone which they were perched upon. Skyrim aged as though it were a wine, growing more and more beautiful with every passing year. Where once was hardened, dark brown earth was a bountiful field. Stretching from the foot of the stone walls to what felt like miles from his current position. And the mountains looked different as well, perhaps it was just a few more years of snow that lay atop their peaks.

He then caught as the quiet clang of a hammer halting abruptly as a squeak of happiness tore itself from his tiny companion. In that moment, Bizzmuth tore himself from his thoughts to look over to the source of the noise. In his distraction Cealy had ran forth, her arms now wrapped tightly around the greying smith. “Ah…” He muttered attentively, as he watched the two in interest.

“Isn’t this a surprise! What’re you doing here Cealy?” The old man asked curiously, as he looked over to her follower. Who seemed absolutely infatuated with the forge, and its surroundings. Something about this Mer seemed almost uncomfortably familiar, but his old eyes were failing him and he may have been mistaken. As the elf in question stepped forwards though, all became clear.

“Eh, Eurolund.” The Mer began with a lopsided grin as the old Nord stepped out of the hug and stood in front of him. “Remember me?” He added as a large hand was thrust forwards. Instinctually grabbing then appendage, the men gave it a firm squeeze and a downwards motion. Before then pulling his hand back with a nod of satisfaction.

       “It’s been a decade, you bastard. Where’ve you been?” The elderly male barked out jokingly as he watched the other shake his head with a cross of his arms.

“‘Been busy. Finally opted to come back to Skyrim, seeing as things have calmed down. Err. Permanently.” Bizzmuth responded with a quiet grunt of annoyance as the same blast of the flames from his sanctuary lit up in front of his eyes. _Thought I drank you away…_ He snarled inwardly, his eyes smoking over slightly. The only thing pulling him from his reverie was the clash of steel. With a raise of his brow, and a flick of his ear, the Mer then moved forwards. Nearly hurling himself off of the forge as he came to stare down at the two fighters. One was wielding a greatsword, probably larger than Cealy. While the other blocked with an iron shield adorned with a crest in the center and a single sword. By its gleam he could only assume it was made from the same material as the weapon his opponent was using. they looked like brothers, something about their nose and eye shapes seemed unmistakably similar. But different all the same. “Eh blacksmith…” He rumbled out as he turned to look at the two while they engaged in their own conversation. “Who’re they?” He added, his eyes moving back to the fighting, as a yelp erupted from underneath him. The one with the shield had clearly gotten too bold, and paid for it dearly.

“They’re the companions. That fort, and its encircling area is their training ground. But that is as much information as I can give really. Can only imagine you two didn’t just come to Whiterun to do your good deed for the day-”

“That’s right, we need to head to Jarl!” Cealy stated quickly, as she yet again grasped the others wrist, and began running, pulling the elf along with her.

“Oi- Cealy!” The Bosmer tried to stop himself from moving, but he could’ve swore that if the child were to pull harder, his arm would come clean off. “Err- I’ll see you around Eurolund!” He yelled as he was pulled initially backwards down the steps. Before finally being able to correct his position once they had arrived on the same ground as the overturned boat.

In seconds, the child had caught her breath and began to run again. The steps that lead up to Jorrvaskr a distant memory as the two tore through the wind district. The next set of steps were shaped differently, with a dulled out wood lining the sides and the center as they lead the two upwards. Ahead of them loomed a great palace of ancient wood and stone which almost gleamed in the late morning light. She could feel as the one behind her began to slow down, and tugged harder in response. To ensure that he kept moving. “Come on, come on! A dragon could attack at any moment, the Jarl has gotta know now!” Cealy barked out almost desperately as the final flight of stairs appeared under her feet. The door was mere seconds away now, and her run began to slow firstly to a gait, and then to a simple walk. The near death grip she had upon her travelling companions arm loosening as they moved. Until her hand slipped off his possibly bruised forearm, and flopped down to her own side. With that, the Bosmer took a large step forwards. His shoulder promptly pressing against the door, in preparation to open it.

“Ladies first” Bizzmuth informed with a smile, as with a bit of a harder press the large double doors creaked open. The interior of the palace now held on display for the child. He may have been a petty criminal, capable of framing emperors for treason and nuns for debauchery. But manners had always been held higher than anything else to the Bosmer, even now that he was a loner. Once the little girl wandered in, he followed. Eyes of gilt and iron widening in interest as they took in their newest surroundings. _So, this is it… The place of legends._ The elf could practically hear the ancient stories as they were quietly whispered in the crackling of the many fires. And in the groan of the wood under their feet. It was places like this, that truly made the thief want to travel again.

“Step no further, or I will not hesitate to kill you where you stand.” Hissed a strikingly feminine voice. As a glorious looking female Dunmer came into view when the two stepped up to the top of the stairs. It had been a while since he had managed to lay eyes on such a dashing lass, and couldn’t help but stare.

Cealy grumbled and punched the other in the arm, shaking him from his distracted trance. Her face turning a slight shade of red with how intensely she had seen the other stare.

“What is the meaning of your trespassing, Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors.” She added firmly when neither of them began to speak. Her grip tightening impatiently upon her blade as she took another defensive step forwards. Half expecting the two fools to turn tail and run.

The addressed Mer found himself looking past the art form of a woman in front of him to stare quietly at the Nord she was attempting to protect. A quiet snort erupting from him as the ‘bold’ and ‘fearless’ Jarl was put into full view to gawk at. He looked bloody ancient, with an unkempt golden beard pouring down from his chin like some form of broken waterfall. His hair a large mane of knots and tangles all held down by a rather unimpressive circlet, which sat lazily upon his forehead. His face was truly nothing interesting to look at either. It held not a scar from forehead to chin; much unlike a majority the warlords within Cyrodil. Who proudly bore large gashes across their eyes, noses or jaws. Hell, if this man wasn’t adorned in his royal silks and satins. The Bosmer most likely would have assumed this fluffy prick was just some slacked jawed noble warming the Jarls seat for him while he was away.

The glare that was shot his way when the blonde noticed he was staring did nothing if not make his grueling battle not to laugh even harder. His throat nearly tore itself in half under the strain as one of the old man’s many children walked passed. Mumbling about him being here to lick  his father’s boots. _By the almighty god of the hunt…_

      “Well?!” Barked the female in front of the two again, as finally the black haired elf cleared his throat. Then bowed his greetings to those of the court, and prepared to speak.

“I have news from Riverwood, and judging by how roughly I was dragged up here… I can only assume that it is important.” He answered choppily, his impulse to laugh still wrapping around his throat and chest in the same manner a tourniquet would.

       “It’s from Gurder!” Cealy explained quickly, as both sets of elven eyes laid onto her curiously, before then tearing off to return to looking at each other.

  “As house Carl, my job is to deal with any and all dangers that threaten my Jarl or his people, so you have MY attention. Now, explain yourself.” She informed, her voice slightly less of a growl, in comparison to when she had initially met the two.

       “A dragon destroyed Helgen. There there, is that important enough for us two to speak to your Jarl? Or should I add that it may still be around here.” He quickly responded, his tone firm and controlled.

     “You know about Helgen? The Jarl will want to speak to you personally. Approach, keep your hands off your weapons though… Unless you're willing to lose them.”

       _Wish I had a weapon I was willing to pull...._ Thought the Mer with an indignant huff as he began to move forwards, the child stepping closely behind him. “Alrighty then, let’s cut the pleasantries and things like that. And get right down to the important details, shall we?” Bizzmuth began rather bluntly, not even allowing his companion to have the chance to prepare herself to speak.

    “You were at Helgen? You two saw the dragon with your own eyes?” The Jarl questioned promptly as he shifted his position upon his throne. So he was leaning forwards in attention.

“Yeah, had a great view of that thing while the imperials were trying to cut off my head-” he was going to continue speaking, but the drop of the rooms temperature warned him that he was too close to overstepping.

“Truly? You’re certainly ah… Forthright about your criminal past then I see.” Taking a moment to shake off the initial surprise. The Nord then took a moment to find his composure, before then beginning to speak. “But it’s none of my concern who the imperials wish to execute. Especially now. What I want to know from you two is what exactly happened at Helgen.” Balgruuf began as he watched the Bosmer raise his index finger into the air and take a rather over exaggerated breath as he prepared to speak. only for his words to be killed in his throat as the little girl beside him managed to open her mouth before him.

“The dragon destroyed Helgen, and last we saw it… It was headed this way.” Cealy informed with a frown as she stepped forwards. Her body dipping into a silent bow I’d apology for her elves companion. “It was about a day ago now that Helgen was razed to the ground by that scary monster… For all- all we know it’s still around here, waiting to destroy another town.” She added pleadingly, as she watched the male in front of her lean just the slightest bit more forwards.

   “By Ysmere, Irileth was right! What do you say now, Proventus. Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a _Dragon_?” The blonde jarl questioned as his eyes turned expectantly towards his right hand.

“My lord, we should sent troops to Riverwood at once.” The mentioned House Carl cut in, her tone firm and expectant. All of the eyes in the room turning to her union. “It’s in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains-

       “The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He’ll assume we’re preparing to join Ulfric’s side and attack him!” Barked out the Redguard in concern, as finally, all of the attention of the area was brought to him. Much unlike multiple other court meetings. “We should-”

“Enough! I will not stand by idly while a dragon burns _my_ hold and slaughters _my_ people! Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once.” Blazing blue eyes darkened impatiently. The blonde maned Jarl turning his head quickly to stare at his house Carl, who bowed in response.

“Yes, my Jarl.” With that, the female turned, giving the Bosmer one more firm look as though cautioning him that any ‘illegal activities’ would be punished. She then headed through the hall, a few of the Jarls guards promptly following in toe. Finally, she would be out of the festering heat of the court arguments, and back into where she belonged. Upon the fields of battle.

“Hm, that would be best.” The old Jarl watched as his most trusted Warrior turned and disappeared down another set of steps. Before then taking a moment to recuperate himself, eyes of cerulean promptly turning to stare somberly at the two in front of him.  “Well done. You two sought me out on your own initiative, you’ve done Whiterun a service, and I won’t forget it. Here, take this as a small token of my esteem...” As he spoke, a guard appeared from the southern hallway, a glimmering set of steel armor shining elegantly in the dim light of the great hall. “But, before you depart there is another thing you two could do for me, suitable for those of your… Particular talents, perhaps. Come, let us go find Farengar, my court wizard. He’s been looking into matter related to these dragons and… Rumors of dragons.”  With that, the Nord rose from his seat and began to walk past the two adventurers.

     “If there’s more rewards involved, you’ve got my attention….” The Mer informed, just loud enough for the three of them to hear. But not the other prying ears of the children, nor the others among the hall. When he noticed the girl slowing down, he nudged her forwards. His eyes focused yet again on the back of another blonde haired male.

“Oh, I assure you… Any work that is done for my court will be rewarded in full.” Balgruuf informed with a hint of mirth in his tone as he went along. His wizard’s lab finally coming into view. The Breton in question was busying himself with pouring over a map and writing notes. But the sound of footsteps immediately brought him out of his thoughts. “Farengar, I have found some people who would be willing to help you with your study into the dragons.” The Jarl stated, as he then turned and began to leave, before turning and uttering one final thing. “Good luck you two, Talos bless you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey!  
> You’ve made it to the end, that’s awesome! 
> 
> Here I will be posting a few select chapter-specific notes for those that aren’t really into the Skyrim fandom. Or possibly even The Elder Scrolls, but still wanted to read anyways. I hope, despite possibly not getting some things that you still enjoyed my work!  
> These few notes should answer some of the unanswered questions. And if not? Shoot me a comment! I’ll be around :)  
> ——————————————————————————————————————————————
> 
> NOTES:  
> The setting is Skyrim: A videogame which was initially released within 2011. It is an open world setting which follows a hero called the Dragonborn as they travel through the vast lands of snow, field, and stone. And the world is Nirn.
> 
> The characters are:  
> Bizzmuth: A larger-than-average Bosmer hailing from Cyrodil (the country north of Skyrim)  
> Cealy: A young Nordic child, hailing from Skyrim.  
> Sonar: A mysterious Altmer.
> 
> The races include:  
> Bosmer: A race of elves originally from the forested province of Valenwood, they are slender in stature and specialize in hunting with bows, and melee weapons such as daggers and swords.  
> Altmer: A magical race of elves originating in the Summerset Isles, they specialize in magical efforts and are the figureheads of the elven war movement.  
> Nords: A human race, originating in Skyrim, they are heavy set men and women who are warrior born.
> 
> Other information:  
> The root word for elves is MER, as such every elven race within Skyrim are Mer. (BosMER, AltMER, OrisMER, falMER, DweMER)  
> Nirn = earth  
> Talos = the Nordic version of god.  
> Auri-el = the Elven version of god.  
> Skyrim = a province. (Like Canada)


End file.
